Abundant Blessings I get out of the van as Connor jumps out and bolts to the doors.Delaney, in her attempt to race with her rival, tries to run just as fast and looks adorable scurrying those little legs to get to the opening that Connor gentlemanly provides for us.The tall doors give way to an inviting entrance in soft warm earthy colors.We walk through the doors and smiling faces greet me and my children from all angles.Over the past few years, this place has become my second home, a place where happiness abounds and when it doesn’t, there’s always a comforting hand to hold.Asbury Church and its members have become my second family since I took on the role of then Youth Group Director, Sunday School teacher, Director of Sunday School, and now Vacation Bible School Director.Our footsteps reverberate off the tiled flooring until I reach the office door where Ed is waiting with his weekly good morning smile.He gives me the bulletin from the early service which is currently going on as I hear my name and turn to see Maddie walking towards me with the smile that makes her face light up the world.She gives me a hug and tells me she misses me being her teacher.I smile and tell her I miss her too, but we’ll be able to enjoy VBS together in a few months.Connor bounds back to my side and tells me he’ll take Delaney to the preschool class if I’ll hang up his coat, and I wonder where he gets these manners.As the two of them walk hand in hand up the stairs and down the hall, I watch in amazement at the connection they have, at that same sense of comfort they have when they are here.I realize how thankful I am that I found this home away from home to give me that strength I need to get through my days and enable me to share it with those who mean the most to me.
I hear familiar voices chime, “Those kids are just the cutest things” as I turn to have Willis and Sis greet me.This older couple has been here to welcome me since I joined the church more than ten years ago, and they always have smiles on their faces.They reminisce with me about when their children were young and growing up in this church, all seven of them.As we laugh at the stories, one of their daughters walks in with her family, greets her parents with a hug and kiss, and she asks if she can steal her dad away for a minute.As I watch these two interact with each other, I catch a glimpse of the same connection I had with my father.A tearful smile reaches my lips as I recognize a father and daughter bond that is undeniable.It still amazes me how the happy memories and the pain can flood back so quickly when I least expect it, but it always does when I witness other people enjoying adult relationships with their fathers.Losing my father was the most painful day of my life.In 1992, the wind was taken out of my sails.As a junior in college, I never would have believed my father wasn’t going to be with me as I graduated from college, found a job, got married, had children, and enjoyed the rest of what my life had to offer.Until then, the word “cancer” was a foreign word; it inflicted other families, not mine.But it did, and it still does.However, as I look at these two laugh and joke around with each other, I smile—something I learned from him. My dad could make anyone laugh.He had such a dry sense of humor that many people didn’t understand. I guess that’s where I get my sarcasm. He wasn’t a man of many words, but whenever he said anything, it was very poignant. At the end of my high school graduation ceremony, he came up to me and said, “Take a good look around you. 75% of the people in this room, you’ll never see again.” I looked at him and said, “Dad, I just graduated with over 600 people. 75% of these people I don’t remember seeing in all four years.” A chip off the old block. When I was in college, he would grab the phone from my mom as we were talking just to say, “Hit the books.” Many times, he didn't even have to say anything for us to understand what he meant. The whistle heard around the neighborhood meant dinner was ready, and the quick tickle on the top of the knee was his way of showing his fun nature. We took a few vacations to Daytona Beach, and each morning, my dad and I were up before everyone else, out there searching for shells and "treasures" which had washed ashore overnight. That time alone with the peace of the waves and morning light shining on us (bedhead and all) is one of my most cherished memories. And no words were spoken. Even when we knew something was wrong, but nothing had been diagnosed, he still had a way with words. Before we knew exactly what was wrong, my sister went to him and told him I was pretty upset that he hadn’t been feeling well for so long.When he approached me, I was prepared for this truly serious conversation.I should have known better.Before long, I was laughing through the tears.What was really neat about my dad was his ability to convey his meaningful message and keep me laughing.As I brushed the tears from my cheeks, he turned to me, smiled and said, “I will always be here for you.” Four months later, he was gone. When he died, I thought that was the first time he had ever lied to me. But now years later, I know that’s not the truth.Even though I cannot physically see him and talk to him, he has kept his promise.I hear his voice through mine; I see his presence in me, my children, my mom and my siblings.And every time I recall a vivid memory like this one, I realize how lucky I am to have had such an incredible man and role model in my life.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in Sunday School????”I look up to see Pastor Dan jokingly tap his watch and realize I’m supposed to be checking the classrooms.I excuse myself, pass other families hanging up their coats, head downstairs and make my way down the hallway.As I am about to enter a room, I hear footsteps scurrying behind me as Dalton and Alana drop their younger brother off at his class and try to make it into the room before me, knowing they too are running behind.As the older two reach the door, Dylan calls behind them, asking for his offering. Dalton sighs, rolls his eyes, and reluctantly goes back to take care of it while Alana finds a seat.I greet Alana, who gives me a flustered smile, and tell her that even if she doesn’t think so now, her youngest brother will appreciate all she and Dalton do for him, since I had the same. Pondering this, she replies, "it wouldn't happen without my mom holding us together!" I smile and think, "Amen to that!" Growing up the youngest of three kids, I always had someone looking out for me, whether it's to pick on me or give me advice.In fact, they still are doing that.When my siblings and I were growing up, we were the Three Musketeers or the Three Stooges, depending on who you asked.We always found something silly to do, and it usually meant someone was getting picked on.And, since I was the youngest, more than likely, it was me.I remember my mom always telling me, “Just ignore them”, but that was a very tough task, especially when my sister was taking pictures of me as I cried and whined to my mom about them! Looking back, I can’t believe I fell for some of it or frankly even survived.I got tricked into believing that fruit shaped soap tasted just like the real fruit, that my brother was a mind reader with cards when in reality he could see the reflection in my glasses, and that the floor of the car really was more comfortable to lie down on than the seat, even with the bump in the middle.Mark and Amy even put popcorn in my mouth when I fell asleep on a long car trip just to see how long it would take me to wake up.I did have my moments of payback though when they got in trouble for things that I did because, as mom and dad would say to them, “You know better!”It was a sad day when I finally reached that stage of “knowing better” too, and we all got in trouble.As we get older, the same sense of fun and laughter fill our gatherings.When the four of us get together now, it is like time has never changed.My mom is still in her same role, only now we usually pull her in on the fun.The three of us never got into too much trouble growing up, but that was probably because we are still filling my mom in on what we did.Before mom sold the house we all grew up in, my siblings and I spent some time going through all of the storage and memories in the house.My mom just happened to mention that she was amazed about how worn the carpeting on the steps was.As difficult as it was, the three of us tried to keep straight faces, but to no avail. And so the story began…Because my brother is five years older than I am, he would babysit us when my parents went out on Friday nights. Amy, being the Mastermind behind all of our stunts (a title she vehemently denies to this day), proposed transforming our stairs into a huge sliding board using our three twin mattresses. So, the three of us set it up, put on my mom’s pantyhose (to cut down on the skin to mattress traction), and slid down the stairs. We had a blast, even carrying our poor dog down on a few occasions.But, as usual, it was all fun and games until someone got hurt, and that someone was always me. From our frequent sliding, the mattress at the bottom started to bunch up a little, creating, in effect, a bit of a ski jump.I slid down one time and bounced up to hit the closet door at the bottom of the stairs—face first. After the medicinal bowl of ice cream, we ingeniously decided that if we bent the bottom mattress up, it would cover the door and therefore protect us from further injury….ok, protect me from further injury.We continued our play until we heard the car door outside. You have never seen three kids try to carry mattresses up the stairs so quickly. We got two up and went back for the third which was the one we formed to the door.Amy took the upper part and started to pull it up the stairs, assuming Mark and I would be pushing from the other end.But we didn’t; we just stood there, stunned.We didn’t think before we bent the mattress, and now we had an “L-shaped” mattress. We had bent the metal frame. Fortunately, the car door wasn’t my parents, because the panic stricken looks on our faces would have sunk us for sure (in addition to the mattresses being on the stairs). We bent it back into shape and it was fine, except for a kink right in the middle. Months later when my dad came to tuck us in one night, he sat on my bed, and remarked at the kink he felt in the metal frame, asking when that happened. Before I could think on an answer, my sister chimed in that it had been like that for a while.Yep, as the youngest, guess who got that mattress! That's just the way it is; the pecking order, I guess. But now that we're older, that "order" has evened out a little. After my dad died, I decided to get involved with the Relay for Life team at my church. After the first year, I decided I needed to form a team for my family in honor of my dad. For the past 12 years, we've walked in his memory, and it's given us a chance to take this time for us. It's almost a celebration for us. When my brother was able to join us last summer, I know he realized why we have been trying to get his schedule to fit for the Relay. We celebrate, we remember, we honor....and, of course, we laugh until our sides hurt. Regardless of what life throws our way, we hold strong to each other.The older we get, the greater appreciation we have for each other and the time we spend together.I couldn’t imagine my life without them.
The bell rings to indicate the end of the Sunday school hour as I hear the familiar tune of our choir anthem from the piano in the choir practice room.As we finish our practice, I see a set of eyes and the top of a little head through the windows on the door, and our director smiles as she sees Connor and Delaney trying to peek through as they wait for me in the hall.They pounce on me as I walk out of the room and we make our way to the sanctuary.We shake hands with the greeters and find our way to our regular seats in the front.As the service starts, both of them are busy coloring their pages and sharing their pencils. They perk up when they hear Pastor Dan call the children forward for the Children’s Sermon because that usually means some funny story, activity or treat at the end.As I watch the two of them walk down the aisle hand in hand, I sit in amazement at the joy they bring to my life. They start giggling and whispering to each other and I just laugh. As I see them sit so close on the floor, I remember when I was on maternity leave with Delaney. Connor, who loves to read, would memorize books that I read to him so he could repeat them to Delaney, reading to his sister, even when he didn’t know how to read.He would grab anything that interested him, which was usually sports related and tell the story.Connor is my sports fanatic who can spout out any statistics at a moment’s notice. He loves all sports, but mostly baseball, basketball, football, and hockey. (Are there any other sports??) Since he turned four, summertime has meant baseball, which has become more important than food or sleep. From sun up to sun down, he’s running the bases in the backyard, and I’ve become quite the pitcher! He played baseball for MYAA the past few years and was in his glory running the bases, half the time with his baseball pants slipping down because he’s such a toothpick! A few summers ago, I took him to a Pirates game when a friend of mine gave me his Club box seats. Most of the other people around us were older, either business men and women or retirees.As soon as we sat down, he started running stats with me, checking the line-up, explaining who should really be batting 3rd, and why they’ll be going to the relief pitchers by the 6th inning. After being there for about 10 minutes, the people in front of us looked back to see who was giving such detailed summaries of the players, and they did a double take.They asked how old he was. When I responded, “He’s five”, they were floored! They had expected to see a 12 year old kid!He’s just that into the sport!We spend many nights at Uht Park taking in Seawolves games. At the games, they have one inning where they let a child become the Jr. PA Announcer. Each time Connor gets picked, the guys in the box tell the regular announcer to go home. Connor even got the chance to do the Seawolves Baseball camp the past two summers, and when they organized a fundraiser for the YMCA, I took him down to the park, too. And I did the math…Seawolves jersey $20, Seawolves baseball hat $12, Fundraiser to take pitches from Seawolves players $5, watching my son on his field of dreams…priceless…That was the best money I’ve ever spent because one player took Connor aside and ran drills with him on the infield and in the outfield.For three hours, all I did was watch the joy on his face, even for Delaney too, who made a friend with C-Wolf, the mascot.Delaney is my performer and my princess, who if given the choice of playing with princesses or Star Wars or Pokemon or Sports would have a tough time choosing because she is the only girl in a sea of boy cousins so she is inundated with all of their toys. She has enticed them with "Pretty Pretty Princess" and jewelry, so they're coming around to her side a little too. She is constantly performing, whether it's singing into a hairbrush in front of the mirror, or for anyone else who will listen. She loves to sing, which irritates her brother to no end! The irony behind this is amazing because I tell Connor she learned this from him when we would go shopping when Delaney was little. Each time we were out, Connor would sing (and repeat) his favorite song, "When the Saints Go Marching In". He had all of Macy's entertained as Delaney slept in the stroller. He says he doesn't remember this, but I see him smile each time I bring it up. And now Delaney is following, or even "marching" in his footsteps. Since she was born, I’ve been involved with Vacation Bible School at my church. A few summers ago when she was almost two years old, she wasn’t old enough to be a part of it, but because I have a DVD player in my van, she got to watch the music videos with all of the hand movements for them. By the time the week was over, she was able to perform in front of the church with the rest of the kids who participated in the week. The next year, she was a part of the preschool group, and just absorbed everything. When they were showing a photo slideshow of the week at the church service and playing the music with it, she stood up in front of everyone and started doing all of the movements and singing the words. Needless to say, I don’t know how many watched the pictures because she was doing her one woman show!And each Christmas Eve, she has sung a solo in front of the whole church. When she's up there, she shines, and when I watch the joy on her face as she is singing for me, for a few people or for a crowd, she just glows. The best part of her performance is what she does when she’s done. No matter where I’m sitting, she rushes right over and wraps her arms around my neck saying, “I did it Mom!” Seeing not only her but Connor do what they love makes everything I do and sacrifice for them worth it. Their smiles, their laughter, and their joy show me that there is nothing stronger than the bond we share. With every age and milestone they hit, I keep saying, “this is my favorite stage”…and it just keeps getting better.I can’t wait to see what our life together holds.Whatever unfolds, I know that the bond we share now will only strengthen, and I won’t have it any other way for the years we will have together.
The organ hits the final notes to indicate the end of the service, and I stand up to gather my things and file out of the sanctuary.I stop up to get Connor and Delaney from Children’s Church, and just smile as I watch them help clean up the toys.What a blessing these two have been and will continue to be to me.We grab out coats, say goodbye to our friends, and walk out into the fresh air.As the sun hits our faces and the sounds of the laughter and voices start to dissipate, I realize how lucky I am to have found my safe haven, my happy place.I feel a small hand grasp mine and look down into Connor’s smiling face.“Come on, Mom.I got Delaney’s hand.”And that’s just the best feeling.He looks out for me just as I look out for them.To me, that’s Heaven on Earth.“Let’s go home guys”, I say as we walk towards the van…that is, until Connor breaks off into a sprint to beat us and win the race.
I get out of the van as Connor jumps out and bolts to the doors. Delaney, in her attempt to race with her rival, tries to run just as fast and looks adorable scurrying those little legs to get to the opening that Connor gentlemanly provides for us. The tall doors give way to an inviting entrance in soft warm earthy colors. We walk through the doors and smiling faces greet me and my children from all angles. Over the past few years, this place has become my second home, a place where happiness abounds and when it doesn’t, there’s always a comforting hand to hold. Asbury Church and its members have become my second family since I took on the role of then Youth Group Director, Sunday School teacher, Director of Sunday School, and now Vacation Bible School Director. Our footsteps reverberate off the tiled flooring until I reach the office door where Ed is waiting with his weekly good morning smile. He gives me the bulletin from the early service which is currently going on as I hear my name and turn to see Maddie walking towards me with the smile that makes her face light up the world. She gives me a hug and tells me she misses me being her teacher. I smile and tell her I miss her too, but we’ll be able to enjoy VBS together in a few months. Connor bounds back to my side and tells me he’ll take Delaney to the preschool class if I’ll hang up his coat, and I wonder where he gets these manners. As the two of them walk hand in hand up the stairs and down the hall, I watch in amazement at the connection they have, at that same sense of comfort they have when they are here. I realize how thankful I am that I found this home away from home to give me that strength I need to get through my days and enable me to share it with those who mean the most to me.
I hear familiar voices chime, “Those kids are just the cutest things” as I turn to have Willis and Sis greet me. This older couple has been here to welcome me since I joined the church more than ten years ago, and they always have smiles on their faces. They reminisce with me about when their children were young and growing up in this church, all seven of them. As we laugh at the stories, one of their daughters walks in with her family, greets her parents with a hug and kiss, and she asks if she can steal her dad away for a minute. As I watch these two interact with each other, I catch a glimpse of the same connection I had with my father. A tearful smile reaches my lips as I recognize a father and daughter bond that is undeniable. It still amazes me how the happy memories and the pain can flood back so quickly when I least expect it, but it always does when I witness other people enjoying adult relationships with their fathers. Losing my father was the most painful day of my life. In 1992, the wind was taken out of my sails. As a junior in college, I never would have believed my father wasn’t going to be with me as I graduated from college, found a job, got married, had children, and enjoyed the rest of what my life had to offer. Until then, the word “cancer” was a foreign word; it inflicted other families, not mine. But it did, and it still does. However, as I look at these two laugh and joke around with each other, I smile—something I learned from him. My dad could make anyone laugh. He had such a dry sense of humor that many people didn’t understand. I guess that’s where I get my sarcasm. He wasn’t a man of many words, but whenever he said anything, it was very poignant. At the end of my high school graduation ceremony, he came up to me and said, “Take a good look around you. 75% of the people in this room, you’ll never see again.” I looked at him and said, “Dad, I just graduated with over 600 people. 75% of these people I don’t remember seeing in all four years.” A chip off the old block. When I was in college, he would grab the phone from my mom as we were talking just to say, “Hit the books.” Many times, he didn't even have to say anything for us to understand what he meant. The whistle heard around the neighborhood meant dinner was ready, and the quick tickle on the top of the knee was his way of showing his fun nature. We took a few vacations to Daytona Beach, and each morning, my dad and I were up before everyone else, out there searching for shells and "treasures" which had washed ashore overnight. That time alone with the peace of the waves and morning light shining on us (bedhead and all) is one of my most cherished memories. And no words were spoken. Even when we knew something was wrong, but nothing had been diagnosed, he still had a way with words. Before we knew exactly what was wrong, my sister went to him and told him I was pretty upset that he hadn’t been feeling well for so long. When he approached me, I was prepared for this truly serious conversation. I should have known better. Before long, I was laughing through the tears. What was really neat about my dad was his ability to convey his meaningful message and keep me laughing. As I brushed the tears from my cheeks, he turned to me, smiled and said, “I will always be here for you.” Four months later, he was gone. When he died, I thought that was the first time he had ever lied to me. But now years later, I know that’s not the truth. Even though I cannot physically see him and talk to him, he has kept his promise. I hear his voice through mine; I see his presence in me, my children, my mom and my siblings. And every time I recall a vivid memory like this one, I realize how lucky I am to have had such an incredible man and role model in my life.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in Sunday School????” I look up to see Pastor Dan jokingly tap his watch and realize I’m supposed to be checking the classrooms. I excuse myself, pass other families hanging up their coats, head downstairs and make my way down the hallway. As I am about to enter a room, I hear footsteps scurrying behind me as Dalton and Alana drop their younger brother off at his class and try to make it into the room before me, knowing they too are running behind. As the older two reach the door, Dylan calls behind them, asking for his offering. Dalton sighs, rolls his eyes, and reluctantly goes back to take care of it while Alana finds a seat. I greet Alana, who gives me a flustered smile, and tell her that even if she doesn’t think so now, her youngest brother will appreciate all she and Dalton do for him, since I had the same. Pondering this, she replies, "it wouldn't happen without my mom holding us together!" I smile and think, "Amen to that!" Growing up the youngest of three kids, I always had someone looking out for me, whether it's to pick on me or give me advice. In fact, they still are doing that. When my siblings and I were growing up, we were the Three Musketeers or the Three Stooges, depending on who you asked. We always found something silly to do, and it usually meant someone was getting picked on. And, since I was the youngest, more than likely, it was me. I remember my mom always telling me, “Just ignore them”, but that was a very tough task, especially when my sister was taking pictures of me as I cried and whined to my mom about them! Looking back, I can’t believe I fell for some of it or frankly even survived. I got tricked into believing that fruit shaped soap tasted just like the real fruit, that my brother was a mind reader with cards when in reality he could see the reflection in my glasses, and that the floor of the car really was more comfortable to lie down on than the seat, even with the bump in the middle. Mark and Amy even put popcorn in my mouth when I fell asleep on a long car trip just to see how long it would take me to wake up. I did have my moments of payback though when they got in trouble for things that I did because, as mom and dad would say to them, “You know better!” It was a sad day when I finally reached that stage of “knowing better” too, and we all got in trouble. As we get older, the same sense of fun and laughter fill our gatherings. When the four of us get together now, it is like time has never changed. My mom is still in her same role, only now we usually pull her in on the fun. The three of us never got into too much trouble growing up, but that was probably because we are still filling my mom in on what we did. Before mom sold the house we all grew up in, my siblings and I spent some time going through all of the storage and memories in the house. My mom just happened to mention that she was amazed about how worn the carpeting on the steps was. As difficult as it was, the three of us tried to keep straight faces, but to no avail. And so the story began…Because my brother is five years older than I am, he would babysit us when my parents went out on Friday nights. Amy, being the Mastermind behind all of our stunts (a title she vehemently denies to this day), proposed transforming our stairs into a huge sliding board using our three twin mattresses. So, the three of us set it up, put on my mom’s pantyhose (to cut down on the skin to mattress traction), and slid down the stairs. We had a blast, even carrying our poor dog down on a few occasions. But, as usual, it was all fun and games until someone got hurt, and that someone was always me. From our frequent sliding, the mattress at the bottom started to bunch up a little, creating, in effect, a bit of a ski jump. I slid down one time and bounced up to hit the closet door at the bottom of the stairs—face first. After the medicinal bowl of ice cream, we ingeniously decided that if we bent the bottom mattress up, it would cover the door and therefore protect us from further injury….ok, protect me from further injury. We continued our play until we heard the car door outside. You have never seen three kids try to carry mattresses up the stairs so quickly. We got two up and went back for the third which was the one we formed to the door. Amy took the upper part and started to pull it up the stairs, assuming Mark and I would be pushing from the other end. But we didn’t; we just stood there, stunned. We didn’t think before we bent the mattress, and now we had an “L-shaped” mattress. We had bent the metal frame. Fortunately, the car door wasn’t my parents, because the panic stricken looks on our faces would have sunk us for sure (in addition to the mattresses being on the stairs). We bent it back into shape and it was fine, except for a kink right in the middle. Months later when my dad came to tuck us in one night, he sat on my bed, and remarked at the kink he felt in the metal frame, asking when that happened. Before I could think on an answer, my sister chimed in that it had been like that for a while. Yep, as the youngest, guess who got that mattress! That's just the way it is; the pecking order, I guess. But now that we're older, that "order" has evened out a little. After my dad died, I decided to get involved with the Relay for Life team at my church. After the first year, I decided I needed to form a team for my family in honor of my dad. For the past 12 years, we've walked in his memory, and it's given us a chance to take this time for us. It's almost a celebration for us. When my brother was able to join us last summer, I know he realized why we have been trying to get his schedule to fit for the Relay. We celebrate, we remember, we honor....and, of course, we laugh until our sides hurt. Regardless of what life throws our way, we hold strong to each other. The older we get, the greater appreciation we have for each other and the time we spend together. I couldn’t imagine my life without them.
The bell rings to indicate the end of the Sunday school hour as I hear the familiar tune of our choir anthem from the piano in the choir practice room. As we finish our practice, I see a set of eyes and the top of a little head through the windows on the door, and our director smiles as she sees Connor and Delaney trying to peek through as they wait for me in the hall. They pounce on me as I walk out of the room and we make our way to the sanctuary. We shake hands with the greeters and find our way to our regular seats in the front. As the service starts, both of them are busy coloring their pages and sharing their pencils. They perk up when they hear Pastor Dan call the children forward for the Children’s Sermon because that usually means some funny story, activity or treat at the end. As I watch the two of them walk down the aisle hand in hand, I sit in amazement at the joy they bring to my life. They start giggling and whispering to each other and I just laugh. As I see them sit so close on the floor, I remember when I was on maternity leave with Delaney. Connor, who loves to read, would memorize books that I read to him so he could repeat them to Delaney, reading to his sister, even when he didn’t know how to read. He would grab anything that interested him, which was usually sports related and tell the story. Connor is my sports fanatic who can spout out any statistics at a moment’s notice. He loves all sports, but mostly baseball, basketball, football, and hockey. (Are there any other sports??) Since he turned four, summertime has meant baseball, which has become more important than food or sleep. From sun up to sun down, he’s running the bases in the backyard, and I’ve become quite the pitcher! He played baseball for MYAA the past few years and was in his glory running the bases, half the time with his baseball pants slipping down because he’s such a toothpick! A few summers ago, I took him to a Pirates game when a friend of mine gave me his Club box seats. Most of the other people around us were older, either business men and women or retirees. As soon as we sat down, he started running stats with me, checking the line-up, explaining who should really be batting 3rd, and why they’ll be going to the relief pitchers by the 6th inning. After being there for about 10 minutes, the people in front of us looked back to see who was giving such detailed summaries of the players, and they did a double take. They asked how old he was. When I responded, “He’s five”, they were floored! They had expected to see a 12 year old kid! He’s just that into the sport! We spend many nights at Uht Park taking in Seawolves games. At the games, they have one inning where they let a child become the Jr. PA Announcer. Each time Connor gets picked, the guys in the box tell the regular announcer to go home. Connor even got the chance to do the Seawolves Baseball camp the past two summers, and when they organized a fundraiser for the YMCA, I took him down to the park, too. And I did the math…Seawolves jersey $20, Seawolves baseball hat $12, Fundraiser to take pitches from Seawolves players $5, watching my son on his field of dreams…priceless… That was the best money I’ve ever spent because one player took Connor aside and ran drills with him on the infield and in the outfield. For three hours, all I did was watch the joy on his face, even for Delaney too, who made a friend with C-Wolf, the mascot. Delaney is my performer and my princess, who if given the choice of playing with princesses or Star Wars or Pokemon or Sports would have a tough time choosing because she is the only girl in a sea of boy cousins so she is inundated with all of their toys. She has enticed them with "Pretty Pretty Princess" and jewelry, so they're coming around to her side a little too. She is constantly performing, whether it's singing into a hairbrush in front of the mirror, or for anyone else who will listen. She loves to sing, which irritates her brother to no end! The irony behind this is amazing because I tell Connor she learned this from him when we would go shopping when Delaney was little. Each time we were out, Connor would sing (and repeat) his favorite song, "When the Saints Go Marching In". He had all of Macy's entertained as Delaney slept in the stroller. He says he doesn't remember this, but I see him smile each time I bring it up. And now Delaney is following, or even "marching" in his footsteps. Since she was born, I’ve been involved with Vacation Bible School at my church. A few summers ago when she was almost two years old, she wasn’t old enough to be a part of it, but because I have a DVD player in my van, she got to watch the music videos with all of the hand movements for them. By the time the week was over, she was able to perform in front of the church with the rest of the kids who participated in the week. The next year, she was a part of the preschool group, and just absorbed everything. When they were showing a photo slideshow of the week at the church service and playing the music with it, she stood up in front of everyone and started doing all of the movements and singing the words. Needless to say, I don’t know how many watched the pictures because she was doing her one woman show! And each Christmas Eve, she has sung a solo in front of the whole church. When she's up there, she shines, and when I watch the joy on her face as she is singing for me, for a few people or for a crowd, she just glows. The best part of her performance is what she does when she’s done. No matter where I’m sitting, she rushes right over and wraps her arms around my neck saying, “I did it Mom!” Seeing not only her but Connor do what they love makes everything I do and sacrifice for them worth it. Their smiles, their laughter, and their joy show me that there is nothing stronger than the bond we share. With every age and milestone they hit, I keep saying, “this is my favorite stage”…and it just keeps getting better. I can’t wait to see what our life together holds. Whatever unfolds, I know that the bond we share now will only strengthen, and I won’t have it any other way for the years we will have together.
The organ hits the final notes to indicate the end of the service, and I stand up to gather my things and file out of the sanctuary. I stop up to get Connor and Delaney from Children’s Church, and just smile as I watch them help clean up the toys. What a blessing these two have been and will continue to be to me. We grab out coats, say goodbye to our friends, and walk out into the fresh air. As the sun hits our faces and the sounds of the laughter and voices start to dissipate, I realize how lucky I am to have found my safe haven, my happy place. I feel a small hand grasp mine and look down into Connor’s smiling face. “Come on, Mom. I got Delaney’s hand.” And that’s just the best feeling. He looks out for me just as I look out for them. To me, that’s Heaven on Earth. “Let’s go home guys”, I say as we walk towards the van…that is, until Connor breaks off into a sprint to beat us and win the race.